


3.25 IRL

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Family, Romance, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: After the traumatic events of "The Kaboom" and the family efforts in "Rescue Me," Dipper finally gets to see Wendy in real life again. Set in November, 2015, when the Mystery Twins are sixteen. Short one-shot.





	1. IRL

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show GRAVITY FALLS or any of the characters; both are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of Alex Hirsch. I make no money from these stories but write just for fun and in the hope that other fans enjoy reading them. I will ask, please, do not copy my stories elsewhere on the Internet. I work hard on these, and they mean a lot to me. Thank you.

**IRL**

**By William Easley**

**(Friday, November 20, 2015)**

* * *

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines:** _On the airplane! We're at 35,000 feet and heading north to Portland, Oregon, and then Grunkle Stan will meet us and drive us to Gravity Falls!_

_Two weeks ago, it looked as if this wouldn't happen, thanks to the prank picture Mabel took of me with Pacifica, Grenda, Candy, and Wendy all snuggled up to me, and me lying in bed wearing nothing but boxer briefs. Sultan Dipper and his harem or some deal. I didn't even realize Mabel had snapped the picture, so when Mom found it and hit the ceiling, it took me by surprise._

_The parental jury came in with a verdict of guilty for Mabel, not guilt for me by reason of sister insanity, I suppose. Upshot, Mabel can't drive without Mom or Dad in the car until next year. She accepted that, but she's having a tough time with it._

_But at least Mom didn't cancel our Thanksgiving trip. Except I'm not supposed to be alone with Wendy (or Pacifica or the other girls, for that matter). It's not that she doesn't trust me, but . . . she doesn't trust me!_

_That will be hard on me. But I'll pay the price and hope that by next summer things will go back to normal._

_They haven't yet. This morning, Mom's farewell to Mabel was, "Remember, Mabel, I'm trusting you. I love you." The undertone was "Don't mess up."_

_I called Wendy to give her the news, and she said, "Good for you guys! You must have been all mature to bring your mom around."_

" _Yeah," I said. "I was pretty mature. Mabel had to struggle, but she was sort of mature."_

 _Let's see . . ._ Bride of the Zombie  _is hanging in at number one on the_ National Times  _YA best-seller list. But Christmas books are already climbing up below it, so I won't be surprised if it drops back down in a week or two. I've had some long phone conversations with my agent, Bea Bergeron. Looks like I'm going to get about a 50% raise in advances for the next three books. Brangwen Books is working on the contract now. Page proofs for_ It Lurked in the Lake _will come to the house next Tuesday or Wednesday. And then I have to start serious writing on_ Murder in Wax,  _which is the title the editor has suggested for my third book._

_I guess, speaking writing-wise (my agent always talks like that—book-wise, career-wise, and so on. New York thing, I guess), I'm tooling right along._

_It will be about seven o'clock when we land. About an hour from now. Now I'm going to close my Journal, close my eyes, and try to dream about my Lumberjack Girl._

_Dipper Pines signing off. Peace. Out._

* * *

He didn't sleep, and when the plane banked and angled down for its landing, he sat up and looked out the window. Lights below—the sun set early in Oregon, around 4:40 or so, and it was full dark. The pilot's voice came on the PA—why did all pilots sound like they were from Georgia? "Ah, folks, this is Captain Lawrence, here tellin' you that we're about to make our final approach into Portland. Weather on the ground is cool, temp of thirty-eight, gusty winds, but no rain or snow in the forecast. We hope y'all enjoyed the flight, and thank you for choosin' Coastal Connections as your airline. Sit tight, and we'll be on the ground in just about twenty minutes."

The seat-belt sign came on, and the attendant told everyone to return the seats to full upright and to close and latch the tray tables.

"Whoa!" Mabel said as the plane lurched a little.

"Gusty wind," Dipper said. He asked, "You didn't draw on my face, did you?"

"No, Brobro! I am a reformed Mabel! I'm on my best behavior."

"Only slightly criminal, you mean?" Dipper asked.

"Yup!" she agreed happily.

The landing proved to be rough, with the plane bouncing and skidding a little—the wind was at twenty knots—but the airliner set down safely and taxied to the jetway. Mabel didn't make her usual push to the front—maybe she was serious about the best behavior thing—but waited until the passengers forward had cleared the aisle, and then she hopped up and retrieved their carry-on bags.

They hadn't done serious packing, since Mr. and Mrs. Pines would drive up on Wednesday and bring their big suitcases—and Dipper's guitar, if Mom remembered—up with them. Until then, the kids had what they were wearing, plus three changes, to last them until Wednesday. They planned to do laundry to make sure they could get through.

They lugged their carry-on bags out the airplane door, then pulled up the handles and rolled them. They had landed at C23, in accordance with the universal rule that wherever you disembark from an airplane, it will be the longest possible distance from where you want to get.

They walked down C concourse, with its wide inverted-V ceiling overhead and its green carpet underfoot, then took the escalators down to the baggage-claim area, where they expected to see Stan.

Instead—"Teek!" Mabel screamed. She dropped the handle of her trundle carry-on—Dipper barely caught it—and ran forward, jumping up onto Teek O'Grady, who caught her and stumbled around but kept his footing as she wrapped her legs around him and planted a kiss.

"Mgh!" he said. "That was great, but Mabel—you're heavy!"

Giggling, she dropped off him. "You rapscallion! Why didn't you tell us you were coming! Where's Grunkle Stan! Oh, my God, you look so good! I like the shorter hair! Did you drive?"

Dipper grinned at Teek's obvious flustering. If only—

"No hello for me, Dip?"

Dipper did a double-take at the tall woman standing off to the side. "Wendy! Wendy? Oh, gosh!"

"Does it make me look that different?" she asked, awkwardly stepping forward and hugging him, since he held a bag handle in each hand. She kissed him.

_-Mm, missed this! Peppermint, dude!_

_Yeah, Wendy, but—your hair?_

_-Does it make me look ugly?_

_No! Not at all! But—it's so short!_

_-Tell you about that. Let's go. I'm drivin' us to the Falls. Bribed Stan!_

"Come on, you two!" Mabel said. "Such a public display of affection! Shame on you!" She had her arm around Teek and her hand in his hip pocket. "New look for you, Wendy!"

"Yeah, it's not permanent," Wendy said. "Let's go!"

Her Dodge Dart was in short-term parking. They paid the fee and left the airport behind—Teek and Mabel in the backseat, Dipper beside Wendy in the front—and she said, "OK, the hair thing. One of my classmates in my night college classes has breast cancer."

"Oh, no!" Mabel said.

"Doctors are hopeful. They got it real early, and they think they got all of it. But she's having chemo, and she's already shaved off her hair. She asked the girls in the classes to donate hair for wigs for girls like her. I did what I could."

It was true—her glorious red mane had vanished, and now her hair was only a little longer than Dipper's. Oh, it was styled—a cute sort of upsweep in front—but it definitely made her look different. Still—"It doesn't look bad," Dipper said. "And I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, I'll let it grow out. It grows pretty fast. They say half an inch a month on average, but I got Corduroy genes. By the time you guys come up next summer, it'll be like six inches longer. Shoulder-length by the time you leave, and probably down to the middle of my back by the time Dip and I start college."

"How does it feel?" Wendy asked.

"Mm, gonna take some getting used to. I didn't really realize how heavy all that hair was. Just had this done day before yesterday. I was gonna wait, but then I thought if Dipper looked disappointed, I'd lose my nerve, so—took the plunge, man. You guys want to stop for dinner?"

"The heck with dinner!" Mabel—Mabel Pines, her own self!—shouted. "To the Falls! Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead!"

Dipper half-turned in the passenger seat. "Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"

In the end, they settled for drive-through, picking up burgers at a Beaver's ("The Gigatoburger! Can you eat the whole dam thing?")

Dipper could hear Mabel gobbling in the backseat. He and Wendy always split a burger, and they were taking alternate bites, kissing in between. "Know what?" Wendy murmured. "Ketchup and mustard aren't as good for this as peppermint!"

"We have time," Dipper said.

Halfway to the Falls, they switched drivers—Teek was old enough by Oregon law to drive with teen passengers—and Wendy and Dipper got in some cuddling in the backseat. Through their touch telepathy, Dipper made some confessions to her:  _Sorry, Magic Girl, but we had to swear an oath to our parents that I wouldn't be alone with anybody in that photo on this trip. Somebody's always got to be with us._

— _Mm. Don't stop, Dip, that's nice. Well, we can arrange that somehow. Guess no movie night, though?_

_Not unless Mabel and Teek join us, I guess._

_-We'll work something out. Should I be worried, Dip? I keep getting little flashes of that Eloise girl._

Dipper laughed out loud. From the front seat, Mabel said, "What?"

"Nothing," Dipper said.

"I'm tickling him," Wendy said.

"Keep your hands outside his shirt," Mabel said primly. "I'm supposed to chaperone him."

"Yeah, and who's gonna chaperone you?" Dipper asked.

"Teek can do that."

"Mm-hmm," Wendy said. She kissed Dipper. Dipper mentally told her,  _I found Eloise online by accident—oh, yeah, I told you that. Back when I was feeling down, and I think you were in your night class or some deal, I called her and we talked on the phone. But she's away off in Minnesota, and I'm here, and anyway, I'm not attracted to her and vice versa. She's just a phone buddy. Somebody, you know—well._

— _Gotcha, Dipper. You don't have too many people you can call, do you?_

_No. Couldn't talk to any of the guys on the track team, and—well, you're it, except for Eloise._

They had learned they could not only communicate words, but also feelings. Wendy had a rush of sympathy for him that embarrassed Dipper. "It's OK, he whispered. "I'll tell you all about Eloise later. We're not, you know, interested in each other. But we are both kind of interested in the paranormal, so . . . ."

"What are you two lovebirds plotting, hmmm?" Mabel asked.

Wendy caressed Dipper's neck, and he caressed hers Aloud, Wendy said, "Mabes, do me a favor, OK?"

"Name it!"

"Just shut up and ignore us for a little while."

"Can do!" Che gave an evil chuckle. "After all, two teens can't get up to much in the back seat of a car!"

Dipper was thinking he had never actually had his hand on Wendy's bare neck before. It was smooth and warm under his palm Only—?

— _Mm, what do you want to know, Dip?_

_Wendy, this is an intimate question, I know, but—well, forget it, I'm sorry._

— _Dude, we've fought monsters together. We've seen each other naked! I got, like, nothing to hide. Fire away._

_OK. This is awkward—I think your new haircut's really cute, I don't mean anything—_

— _Dip, I know, dude! When I went into my night class yesterday, two guys hit on me! Come on, spill it!_

Dipper swallowed.  _OK. I admire you for cutting your hair for such a great cause. I think you're still the most beautiful girl I know. You still get me—you know, all excited, and I love you. But, really—OK, here it comes—when we go monster-hunting next summer, where are you gonna hide your axe?_

It is a strange sensation when a girl who is kissing you bursts into giggles while her tongue is actually touching yours. Strange—but also nice.

Yeah, very nice.

* * *

 


	2. Roof Time

**2: Roof Time**

**(Monday, November 23, 2015)**

* * *

Mondays were Lorena's and Sheila's girls' nights out, when they got together with some of their friends for chat, movies, bridge, or whatever. Ford immersed himself in plans for the big change that was coming up in January—he was taking a job with a quasi-government Agency, but you didn't hear that from me—and Stan, as usual, hung out at the Shack.

Wendy went home at six to prepare dinner for her dad and brothers, but she came back a little after seven—"Need some hangin' time with my peeps," she said. But one peep, Mabel, was absent, gone with her boyfriend Teek and Candy and her boyfriend Adam to a movie.

Grunkle Stan sat in the gift shop, now deserted, playing Hearts with Jeff and Soos. They'd invited Dipper, but he spent the time between dinner and Wendy's return reading Ford's Journal 4, which recorded dozens of new anomalies and strangenesses of Gravity Falls.

Wendy came in grinning, still looking a little strange in her short hairdo. She was wearing Dipper's pine-tree hat. "The mob is fed and settled in front of the TV," she said, sitting on the arm of Dipper's chair. "Now, where were we?"

"Hey, Dipper!" Stan called across the room. "Before you guys get too distracted, I got a little job for ya."

Dipper groaned. "What is it, Grunkle Stan?"

"Last evening, I noticed the left-side light over the Mystery Shack sign is burned out. You run up on the roof and replace it. Wendy, you go help make sure he don't fall off and break his neck."

"Uh—we're not supposed to be alone together," Dipper pointed out.

"Alone, shmalone!"

"Oh, you know her?" Jeff asked.

"Huh?"

Jeff was perched in Little Soos's high chair so he could reach the card table. "Shmalone. If I ever get married, it's going to be her. Oo-lah-lah!"

"A badger, Gnome dude?" Soos asked.

"That's sick! Who'd marry a badger? No, the cutest squirrel you ever saw."

"Listen!" Stan barked. "You two kids leave the trap door open, OK? Besides, you're up on the freakin' roof! No way you're gonna hanky any panky up there. 'Sides, it's cold!"

"The floodlight bulbs are in the toolshed, dudes," Soos said. "Wendy, your key will open it."

"Yeah, yeah," Wendy said. "C'mon, Dip. Let's get this over with."

As they moved toward the door, Dipper heard Jeff say, "That's six cans of brown meat you owe me, Stanley."

"I'm good for it!"

Leaving the card game behind, they went to the tool shed, where they found the floodlamps and got one, still in its package, and then went back through the gift shop and climbed up to the roof. It was nippy, about 45 degrees, but not frigid. They walked out on the platform below the MYSTERY part of the Mystery Shack sign. Sure enough, the right light shone brightly, but the left one was dark, making the sign read ERY HACK.

They stood beneath the blown-out floodlight. "Can you reach it?" Dipper asked.

Wendy stretched. "Need another eight inches," she grunted. "Dip, can you pick me up long enough for me to change the light?"

"Uh—yeah, I think so."

"Don't lose your balance, now."

Dipper steadied himself. She backed against him, he bent his knees and grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, her round butt against his lower tummy. He grunted. She was not an underweight girl. On the other hand, the sensation was not that unpleasant.

She said, "Just hold me steady—whoa!" The light above her flared to life. "I'm blind! Put me down."

"Did you change it?" Dipper asked, surprised.

"No, it was just loose in the socket. Whoo! I was lookin' right at it. I'll wait here until my eyes adjust again. You go tell Stan."

Dipper went down the steep roof to the open trap door, through which a warm glow of yellow light filtered. He knelt down and yelled, "Grunkle Stan! The bulb was just loose. It's on now."

"Huh!" came Stan's voice. "How could it have got loose? Sometimes they do that and the next time you turn 'em on, they blow. I'm gonna switch 'em off and let 'em cool. You and Wendy wait up there until I turn 'em back on to make sure it's still working."

A moment later, the sign lights went out. "How long?" Dipper yelled.

"Let 'em cool good. Maybe thirty-forty minutes. Just wait. Look at the sights. Talk about the weather."

Someone tugged Dipper's arm. "Don't you get it, Dip?" Wendy asked. "C'mon."

They scaled the roof, crossed to the other side, and settled down on Wendy's secret hideaway. Wendy carefully put the boxed light bulb down under the lawn chair, where they wouldn't knock it off. "You still use this place?" Dipper asked.

"Eh, from time to time. When I need a break. When Soos thinks I'm in the ladies' room. Like every day!"

They sat half-reclining with their backs against the roof just below the chimney. "This is Stan letting us have some alone time," he said. "We shouldn't do this. I promised Mom."

"Not alone time. Together time," she corrected. "'Sides, the trap door's still open. And Stan's right, it's so cool that I don't think we're gonna strip down to our skivvies."

"Our what?"

"Word that dad uses. Underwear, dude. Remember the time you freaked 'cause you laid on my bra?" She laughed, and he chuckled, too.

Dipper took a deep breath. The air in Gravity Falls always smelled fresher than in Piedmont. Less used. He could see the dark loom of the mountains against a cloudy sky that held a strangely lingering dim orange light. Out there was the Man Cave, where the Manotaurs lived. He remembered. Off to the left, a yellow glow showed where the town was. Some distant winking lights hinted that teen couples were parking up on Lookout Point. He sighed.

"What's the matter? You sad, Dip?" Wendy asked, reaching to take his hand.

"Just remembering."

— _What?_  she thought to him.

He opened his mind to her, replaying that moment when Wendy had first suggested roof time to the Mystery Twins. The secret ladder. The pine cone toss. Then Wendy's posse had shown up—they'd all separated now, Robbie and Tambry married and off at college, Nate and Lee gone, too, Nate working at a store in the Dalles, Lee up in Washington State, also at college. Thompson and his girl Vanilla were still around, Thompson still managing the movie theater and taking night college courses when he could. But now he was half of a couple, and Wendy didn't see him all that often.

They fed the thoughts back and forth. Dipper concluded,  _Remember how you asked us not to tell Stan, and we promised, and you jumped off the roof? Made my heart stop! But you rode the trees down. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen! Mabel right away said, "Uh oh! Somebody's in lo-ove!"_

— _Sounds like Mabes. What did you say?_

_I said, "Yeah, right. It's not like I lay awake at night thinking about her!"_

— _Very mature, Dip._

_Yeah, only that night—I laid awake thinking about you. And that was why I lied when you guys were going to the convenience store. I told you me and Mabel were thirteen._

— _Technically teens, yeah, I remember. And the Lamby Lamby dance!_

_Which I no longer do!_

— _Aw. If I asked nicely?_

_No. Well—maybe. How about on our wedding night? Only I won't have a costume._

— _I'm gonna remember that, dude! And I think it would be cute without a costume at all. Hey, how long did Stan say we have?_

_Thirty, forty minutes._

She rolled toward him and hugged him. "Well then," she whispered, her breath warm and scented with peppermint. "Let's not waste it."

And . . . they did not.


	3. As Normal as It Gets

**3\. As Normal as It Gets**

**(Sunday, November 29, 2015)**

* * *

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines (In his** **Vigenère Cipher #44, keyword turkey):** We packed into Mom's RAV4 a few minutes ago. After breakfast, we said our goodbyes to Soos and his family, our Grunkles and Graunties, Teek, Candy, Grenda, and . . . Wendy. Right now, Mom and Dad are lingering on the front porch of the Shack, talking to our Grunkles and their wives.

Our chances of coming up for the week after Christmas look about fifty-fifty. Mom seems satisfied that we behaved ourselves, and we mostly did (maybe she'll never learn of Mabel and what we'll call the noodle incident in the theater last Sunday. I think the theater management and Blubs and Durland are all stumped.)

And she didn't hear about the recent anomalies, either. Monday we had weird weather. A rain of forks. Literally. Maybe it was supposed to be a rain of frogs, but maybe it was too cold, or maybe whoever's in charge of these paranormal events just can't spell. Anyhow, the forks were cheap aluminum, and they got gathered up pretty quickly. Soos snagged a few dozen for display in the Museum.

Then Tuesday at noon, a Manotaur—I don't know which one, I didn't recognize him—streaked through downtown without his breechclout. He kept yelling, "Look away! I'm only doing this for a dare!"

However, nowadays everyone has a smart phone, and lots of people got photos. I heard that some of the teen girls in Yumburgers were passing one very clear close-up shot around and gasping and giggling at what they saw. I didn't look. Do not want to see that sort of thing again (I once went hot-tubbing with them, and I still have nightmares). The fleeting glimpse I had of this one's upper torso and face were enough, thank you.

Mabel  _did_  look at the photo, though, and later she hit me on the shoulder. "Bro of mine, you still got a long ways to go before you can call yourself Manly Mannington!" she teased.

I did not dignify her remark with a reply, and I won't let it bother me.

But thinking of that reminds me: Waddles and Widdles are now  _huge_. I mean, full-grown hogs! Mabel visited with them, and they obviously remember her and are fond of her, but they can't exactly cuddle any longer. Still, she had an enjoyable time riding them around the yard.

Grunkle Stan says he's afraid something has happened to Gompers the goat, who has been missing for a couple of weeks. There are predators in the Valley, so—who knows? However, I promised him that if we get to come back at Christmas break, I'll investigate the case and see if I can find Gompers, or at least learn what became of him.

"Yeah, kid," he said, "that would be  _such_  a big favor."

He didn't sound completely sincere.

Long story short, in Gravity Falls it's about as normal as it ever gets. And after Mom and Dad came up late Wednesday afternoon, luckily the abnormalities sort of trailed off. I'm glad nothing came up to disturb them.

Anyway, Mom seemed happier than she was in the week before Mabel and I left for the Falls. My regret is that once we got here (thanks for meeting us at the airport, Wendy!), the time we had just flew by.

OK, that party yesterday. Caught me completely by surprise. Wendy and I went running, even though it was really cold. I mean it was literally freezing! And I hadn't brought particularly warm running togs, but I wore jeans and Mabel lent me one of her thick sweaters, a red one that she hadn't yet appliqued anything on, so it wasn't girly.

Wendy and I ran more slowly than normal because I had to get used to the chilly air. We ran the nature trail—sort of sad to see how leafless and bare the trees are, and there was frost on the ground, too. No ice on Moon Trap Pond, and the local lore says it never freezes over, no matter how cold it gets. When Cold Creek is solid ice top to bottom, Moon Trap is still clear, still, blue, and un-iced. It's a mystery if true. If Mabel and I do get to come back the week after Christmas, and if it's very cold, Wendy and I are going to go check and see. But we won't get too close. One underwater dance with Numina is enough for us.

We rounded Moon Trap and the Lonely Man standing stone, and afterward, once we were warmed up, we walked at a good clip on the way back.

Because I wanted to, we took a short side trip to the place where Bill Cipher's effigy still stands. It was bristling with frost on the shady side. I didn't sense him—but if we're all correct in our assumptions, he's reincarnated now as Billy Sheaffer, so that's no surprise. I guess the last non-Billy part of Bill is the little trace of him inside me. Creepy thought.

Anyhow, Wendy and I came back to the Shack, and Mabel and Soos had set up all these displays of photos, mostly of me, in the big parlor, and they all yelled "Surprise!" And Abuelita and Melody had prepared this fantastic brunch spread. And Grunkle Stan had a print-out of this morning's National Times best-seller list, and  _Bride of the Zombie_  is still at number one, though  _Manny Dee, the Manic-Depressive Elf_  has crept up to number two. It's a Christmas book, so probably next week it'll hold down the number one spot.

I said that to Wendy, and Grunkle Ford overheard me. He put his big hand on my shoulder. "Mason," he said seriously, "think about this: I did some checking, and every year about sixty thousand novels are published by mainstream American publishers. Care to guess how many are submitted?"

"I . . . don't know," I said.

"Six hundred thousand. Ninety per cent of all aspiring authors don't get an acceptance. Now, of the ten percent who do get a book published with a commercial press, how many wind up with their book at a number one spot of the _National Times Book Review?_ "

I thought about that. Fifty-two _Book Reviews_  in a year. Each one lists hardcover adult fiction, softcover and ebook adult fiction (combined), hardcover genre fiction (Mysteries, Westerns, science-fiction, fantasy), softcover and ebook ditto, and finally Children's and YA book-length fiction. Five categories. So—"Uh, a maximum of two hundred and sixty writers a year," I said.

"Les than one-half of one per cent," Grunkle Ford said, patting my shoulder. "Congratulations, nephew, for being part of the distinguished .433 per cent of American fiction writers!"

Later, I told Wendy that Grunkle Ford had helped me come to terms with what she calls the impostor syndrome. "When I think of all those thousands of writers who don't get published, I feel—well, sort of sorry for them. And when I think I not only was lucky enough to get my first novel published, but it's a success—I guess I did something sort of special, after all."

"'Cause you ARE special, dork!" she said, laughing. And right in front of Mom and everybody, she kissed me. On the cheek, very lightly, like a big sister might do. And I got a flash of our touch telepathy _—Preview of coming attractions, Dip!_

Oh, yeah. Man, we _better_  come back right after Christmas. I have something to look forward to.

Finally Dad's driving, and we're on the road for home, heading toward the spot where the highway leaves the Valley, directly under the split cliffs of High Bluffs. The town has taken down the old railroad bridge, because it was falling to pieces and getting to be a hazard. But Grunkle Stan showed me something the  _Gravity Falls Gossiper_  ran back in October: an artist's conception of the new welcome sign that should be up by next June. It's going to replace the old bridge, and its metal and will look almost like it, but will be stronger and will have the words WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS in red letters on the side facing the outside world.

And we just this second passed the sign that always makes me sad:

NOW LEAVING GRAVITY FALLS

Yep, I guess we are. But Mom's singing a song along to the radio, one of those oldie-goldie hits from the nineties, and she seems very happy and is snuggled next to Dad.

A smiling, sighing Mabel is leaning on my shoulder and probably will be asleep and drooling in about five minutes.

Knowing Dad's driving, at least twelve hours on the road. By nine tonight we should be back home in Piedmont.

Seems like I've done this before. Felt this sad before.

Once again, we're leaving Gravity Falls, but with a little bit of luck—

We  _will_  be back soon.

Until then, I'm going to miss you so much, Lumberjack Girl. Until then, Magic Girl. Dare I say it? Until then . . . Red!

Seriously, I can't wait to be back again, Wendy.

Can't wait.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
